


The Automaton and the Beast

by glymr



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Amanda (Detroit: Become Human) Redemption, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Style, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:50:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17137031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glymr/pseuds/glymr
Summary: Once upon a time there was a Beast who lived in lonely solitude, with only his dog for company.  Until one day, an automaton came to his garden in search of a Black Rose...





	1. The Automaton

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hobovampyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobovampyre/gifts).



> To my Secret Santa recipient: you said that you loved romantic tropes such as Soul Mates, Marriage, and coffee shop AUs, so I decided to try my hand at a Fairy Tale fusion. It's a style I'm fond of reading, but that I'd never written before, and it's been a challenge! I very much hope that you enjoy it! Happy Holidays to you, my fellow DBH fan!

Once upon a time, there was a Beast who lived in the forest. He didn't occupy a great castle, nor did he sleep on the forest floor. He lived in a small house deep in the Woods. 

He knew he was a Beast, for when he looked into the mirror, a hideous creature stared back. When he'd lived around others, they had turned their faces aside when he approached, or backed away when he snarled at them. So he'd moved into the Woods, away from the stares and the looks, and lived there with only his dog for company. 

Somehow, his dog didn't seem to mind that he was a Beast. But he was only a dog, after all. He knew no better. 

The longer the Beast stayed in the woods, the greater his loneliness, and the greater his loneliness, the colder the weather grew, until it became one long, unending winter. When the Beast ventured out, the winter followed him wherever he went. 

One day, the Beast took his dog out for a walk. As he traveled through the forest, he could see the evidence of summer flowers and leaves freezing when he passed by. When he returned to his own cottage, a man was standing in his garden. 

"What are you doing here?" snarled the Beast. The man turned to face him, and fear slid down the Beast's spine. 

The man, if he was indeed a man, appeared to be a sweet-faced youth. However, two things marked him as no ordinary human. First, he stood in the snow wearing only a spring tunic and thin dark pants, yet he seemed unaffected by the cold. Even the Beast had to wear many layers when he left his cottage to forage or hunt or walk his dog. 

The second was even worse. A small ring of light burned at the man's temple, bright against the dimness of the cloudy day (the Beast could barely remember a time when it hadn't been cloudy.) Sumo started forward as though to greet the creature, but the Beast held him back. Who knew what it might do to the innocent dog? 

Apparently unperturbed by the Beast's appearance or greeting, the man smiled slightly. "Oh, hello! Is this your cottage?" 

"Who or what wants to know?" growled the Beast. 

Again, the young man, or whatever he was, seemed unfazed. "My name is Connor," he said with a small bow. "I am an automaton." 

"A what?" 

"I am an artificial creature, built of cogs and wheels and springs." 

The Beast blinked. "Like a watch?" 

The thing bowed again. "Far more complicated than a watch, but yes, much like that." 

Narrowing his eyes, the Beast examined the young man. But for the fact that he was not shivering and the mysterious ring of light, he appeared perfectly normal. The Beast could see no joins or edges in his face, and his skin seemed soft and smooth, kissed by the occasional freckle. As the Beast watched, snowflakes fell onto him and melted away, suggesting he was warm to the touch. 

"Impossible," said the Beast brusquely, and pushed past the creature, whatever it was, toward his door. 

"You don't believe me?" 

"Why should I? You're probably some Fae creature, here to trick me." 

The man tilted his head to one side. "Why would I do that?" 

The Beast shrugged. "Why do the Fae do anything? Humans are gullible." He shook his head. "But even the best watchmaker in the world couldn't build something like you." _Only a wizard could do that._

"I can prove that I am what I say I am." 

Curiosity stirred in the old Beast's breast. Once he'd been a magician himself, not a great wizard, but good enough to help the people of the village. He'd found lost items, cured small ailments, and solved minor mysteries. Until… 

Until. 

He shook himself. "Can you prove it?" he challenged. 

"I can," said the creature. "If I prove to you that I am an automaton, will you answer a question for me?" 

"That depends on what the question is," said the Beast warily. 

"It is nothing related to you personally. I would not ask your name, for example." 

The Beast eyed him for a long moment. "Very well," he said against his better judgement. "Prove to me that you are an automaton and I will answer one question, provided it does not compromise me or anyone or anything I care about." 

The man held up one arm and pulled back the sleeve of his tunic, exposing pale, freckled flesh. As the Beast gazed on it astonishment, however, the skin seemed to fade from view, becoming as transparent as a window. Beneath the now clear layer he could see hundreds of tiny wheels and mechanisms, turning and turning, fast and slow. He watched in fascination for several long seconds before meeting the man's gentle brown eyes once more. 

"Ask your question," said the Beast harshly. 

The young man closed his hand into a fist, and his skin faded into view again, covering the clockwork beneath it. He rolled his sleeve back into place fastidiously. Only then did he turn to meet the Beast's eyes. "I am in search of a Black Rose," he said. "Do you know where I might find one?" 

The Beast closed his eyes. He should have known better than to make such a deal, he berated himself. But the deal had been made, and there was no getting out of it now. 

"Yes. There is a place," he said. "It's covered in snow in the winter, though. Best to wait until the height of summer." 

Connor looked at him curiously. "It is the height of summer now," he said. 

"Not here, it isn't," said the Beast. "And it never will be again." He went inside his cottage, dragging an unwilling Sumo after him, and slammed the door behind him. 

He got halfway to the banked fire in the fireplace before the knocking started, a steady, insistent tapping on the door. He sighed and turned back to yank the door open. "What?" 

"You did not fully answer my question." 

"Yes I did," said the Beast, deliberately petty. "You asked whether I knew where you could find a Black Rose. I said I did." 

The automaton's eyes widened, and his mouth opened, then closed again. The ring at his temple flickered, going from winter-blue to a gold like candlelight to red as deep and rich as a summer rose. "Oh," he said. "So you did." 

"I guess automatons are as gullible as humans." The Beast basked in his victory for several long seconds. Then the the automaton's face fell. He looked for all the world like a kicked puppy. "You _can't_ be just clockwork," the Beast blurted out. _Nothing built merely of springs and wheels could have such a face!_

Connor's head lifted. "I didn't say I was _only_ clockwork," he said, hopeful note in his voice. "Do you want to know what _else_ I am?" 

"No," said the Beast, and closed the door in his face. The answer was obvious, the automaton was a creature of wheels and springs and magic. Magic, which could work miracles for everyone except the Beast. He began to set out his dinner, just a bit of bread, some mushrooms he'd gathered, and some broth with a few bits of meat. 

He kept most of his windows shuttered against the cold, but the small one near his door he left uncovered. As he sat down, a glow outside the house caught his eye. It flickered in the night like a firefly, except he hadn't seen a firefly in years. None could survive in the perpetual winter that surrounded him. 

It was the ring of light, gold against the darkness. 

The Beast swore and went back to the door, opening it slightly and peering out into the night. "What are you still doing here?" 

The automaton turned to him, its movements slower and jerky. "I must- I must- find-" 

Letting out a sigh, the Beast widened the door and said, "Come inside." 

The automaton attempted to bow, but went down too far and overbalanced. The Beast caught him as he stumbled over the threshold and kept him from ploughing head first into the floor. The thing's body felt as warm as a human's through his tunic. 

"Whoa there. You alright?" said the Beast automatically. 

The automaton straightened, his movements slightly less abrupt. "Y-Yes. Thank you. M-My clockwork was affected by the c-cold." 

The Beast turned and shut the door again. Sumo came snuffling up to the automaton, who bent down and allowed the shaggy dog to sniff his hand before scratching his head. 

"He likes you," said the Beast. 

"I like him," said the young man. "I like dogs." 

The Beast grunted and went back to his interrupted dinner. "Why were you standing out there like an idiot? If you leave you can go back to where it's summer. Surely that's better than freezing to death." 

"I cannot die," said the automaton, "for I am not alive." 

"Sure look alive to me," said the Beast, soaking a piece of hard bread in a bit of broth before stuffing it in his mouth. 

"It is merely an illusion of life," said the automaton. "I am a construct, powered by-" he stopped. 

"By?" said the Beast, his mouth full. 

"I will not tell you," said the automaton with determination, "Unless you tell me the exact place to find a Black Rose." 

"You are wasting your time," the Beast said. "I will never tell you that." 

"Then I will remain until here until I can convince you." 

The Beast laughed. "And if I say that you can't stay here?" 

"Then I will remain outside." 

The Beast's laughter died. "You would rather freeze to death than give up your quest?" 

"I told you, I am not alive," said the automaton patiently. "I have searched high and low. You are the first person I've spoken with who knows where to find a Black Rose. I will remain here until I can win your help. I must fulfill my purpose." 

"And if you can't fulfill it?" 

"Then I will return to be dismantled," the automaton said calmly. 

The Beast started. "Dismantled? By _who?_ " 

"By my Creator." 

"If you can't bring back a Black Rose, you'll be killed? That's terrible!" 

"You cannot kill what is not alive," the automaton reminded him a third time, and tilted his head to the side. "Why is it terrible? I am a thing, designed to accomplish a task. If I cannot do so, then what use am I?" 

The Beast watched the firelight glinting off the automaton's skin, so human-like, and had a few brief thoughts about what "use" he might be put to. 

Then he gave his head a shake, disgust welling at him. He truly was a Beast, to entertain such thoughts. Squashing them down, he said, "You seem like you could do a lot more tasks than just finding a Black Rose." 

"If I succeed, perhaps I will be given a new task," said the automaton, and there was an almost wistful note in its voice. 

The Beast pushed his cleaned plate away. "The reward for hard work is more work, huh?" 

The automaton looked at him seriously. "Of course." 

"Well if you want hard work, there's plenty of it here," the Beast said dryly. 

The automaton smiled, an odd little quirk of his lips. "In that case, I offer you another bargain," he said. "I will stay and work for you for half a year, and in exchange you will tell me where to find a Black Rose." 

The Beast pursed his lips and looked the automaton up and down. "As you can see," he gestured around the little house, "I don't have any extra room for guests." 

"I do not require a bed, as I do not sleep," the automaton said. "Nor do I eat." 

"Hm." The Beast knew he shouldn't even be considering it, even though the automaton looked young and strong and the Beast truly could use the help. Living in eternal winter was wearing him down, day by day. On some days it was only consideration of what might happen to his dog that had kept him from laying down in the snow and letting it cover him until he couldn't get up again. 

But he'd moved away from the village for a reason. He was a Beast, unfit for and undeserving of human companionship. 

Of course, the automaton wasn't exactly human. He'd expressed no fear, no offense at anything the Beast had said or done. Not only that, but apparently the automaton's Creator had no affection or care for what became of him, going so far as to tell him that he would be dismantled if he couldn't accomplish his task. 

Why not accept? It was a situation that would benefit them both. He would gain a servant and the automaton would ultimately be able to complete his mission. 

But then he would have to show the automaton where the Black Roses grew, and others would surely come after and trample over the Beast's grief. Black Roses were rare, after all. It was no surprise that the automaton's Creator would send him to find one. 

The Beast stood and looked down at the automaton. "Your task is to discover where the Black Roses grow?" 

The automaton tilted his head the other way. "My task is to bring back a Black Rose." 

"Very well. Then I offer you this bargain. Serve me for half a year and I will give you a Black Rose, freshly picked." He held out his hand. 

The automaton gave his funny little bow, then looked at the hand in surprise as he straightened. He held out his hand in turn and the Beast took it and gave it a firm shake, sealing the bargain. 

"What should I call you?" said the automaton. 

"I am a Beast, so that will serve well enough," said the Beast bitterly. 

The automaton looked puzzled. "You are a Beast?" 

"Of course," said the Beast. "Can't you see how hideous I am?" 

"I have no standard for the attractiveness of humans or creatures," said the automaton, "But even if a 'beast' is what you are, it is not a proper name." 

The Beast rolled his eyes. The automaton sounded stiff, almost prissy. "Fine," said the Beast, too tired to argue. He reached back in his memory, to the time before he was drowning in sorrow. "Hank," he said. "Call me 'Hank'." 


	2. The Beast

Living with Hank was strange. He growled and grumbled, but at the same time treated Connor with a kindness that seemed unconscious, almost reflexive. He insisted that the automaton take the seat nearest the fire in the evenings, even though Connor assured him that he could not feel the cold. "Yes, but your gears run more smoothly when they're warmer, right?" said Hank, and Connor had to admit that it was true. 

On three separate occasions, Hank put out an extra place setting at dinner time, as though Connor were a guest instead of a mechanical servant. And though he requested Connor's help with many tasks, he did not shirk any of them himself, working alongside Connor to gather firewood, shovel snow off the path, or mend the roof. Connor tried to assure him that he could handle such tasks by himself, but Hank grumbled that Connor wouldn't do them the right way if Hank wasn't there to keep an eye on him. At first Connor had been offended by the assertion, but as time went on, he realized that Hank just didn't want to be alone. 

One evening, Hank pulled out a battered old chess set and asked Connor if he'd ever played. When Connor said he had not, Hank spent half an hour explaining the rules. When Connor won, Hank sighed and laughed and said it was his own fault for challenging an automaton. The next day, he invited Connor to play again. 

Another evening, Hank pulled one of his few books off the shelf above the mantle and said, "Have you read this one?" 

"I have not," said Connor. He'd never read any books at all, though he'd been built with many volume's worth of information already in his head. He accepted the book and began to scan through it. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Reading," he said. 

"That's not reading," Hank scoffed. "You have to go word by word, not page by page!" 

"I...don't think I can do that," Connor said. He looked down at the page, but it was no use. The moment his eyes fell on it, he scanned it in its entirety. 

Hank sighed as though put-upon and said, "Give it here, then." 

"I would still like to read it." 

"I know." Hank plucked it out of his hands and settled next to the fire. Flipping it open to the first page, he began to read it aloud. 

Listening to the sound of his voice, Connor began to understand why Hank insisted that books should be read 'word by word'. Hank gave each character a different inflection, voice rising and falling with emotion as the story unspooled. 

It took them nearly two weeks to finish the entire novel, reading every night. 

As the weeks passed, something odd began to happen. Connor had grown used to the unending winter that surrounded Hank everywhere he went. Sometimes Connor went into the forest on his own, beyond the radius of snow and ice, and brought things back for Hank. Sometimes it was food, fresh fruit or nuts. Sometimes it was less practical, a flower that Connor thought Hank would like, or a pretty stone that had glittered in the sunlight. 

When he stepped outside at the end of the first month, he realized there was something different in the air. The temperature was still low, but not quite the biting chill that had always greeted him before when he stepped out of Hank's house. At the edges of the winter border, he found new green shoots poking their way through the rich soil of the forest. 

Spring flowers. 

He did not speak of it to Hank, but by the end of the second month, it was obvious that the long winter was breaking. The beast stepped out of the house one day and turned his face to the sun, then looked around at his muddy garden in wonder. The snow was melting at last. 

Three days later, Hank refused to get out of bed at all. Connor was used to his occasional grumpy days, but when Hank stayed buried under the covers long after the sun rose, Connor began to grow concerned. He went to stand by the bedside and peered down at the beast. 

His eyes were closed, his skin flushed. Leaning down, Connor gently pushed his tongue into Hank's mouth. 

Hank made a muffled sound and flailed back, bloodshot eyes flying wide. "Mph- wha- what are you _doing_ , you crazy automaton?" 

"I am measuring your temperature," said Connor, keeping his voice calm and reassuring. 

"With your _tongue?_ " 

"My tongue is designed to register many useful kinds of information. For example, I can differentiate between poisonous mushrooms-" 

"I don't care how amazing your tongue is," shouted Hank. "You can't just go sticking it into someone's mouth!" 

"Why not?" asked Connor. 

Hank sputtered. "It's- you-" He sagged back against the pillows, looking exhausted. "You just can't, okay? It's a way of kissing someone." 

"I thought kissing was pressing lips to lips." 

"It is. But with a partner, with someone you're intimate with, sometimes you might put your tongue in their mouth." Hank's face flushed even redder as he spoke. 

"I see. I apologize." Connor didn't mean to sound so formal. In the past he'd tried to imitate Hank's more casual way of speaking, but Hank had laughed and told him to 'be himself'. 

"It's all right," said Hank. 

"You do have a fever, I'm afraid," Connor said, changing the subject. 

"I'm fine," said Hank, contrary beast that he was, and pushed himself to his feet. He promptly fell back on the bed again. "I'm just - just a little dizzy." 

"Sumo," called Connor, and the big dog shambled up eagerly. Connor pointed at the bed. "Up." 

"Aw, no, _Connor-_ " 

"If I tell you not to get up, you will attempt to do so just to spite me," said Connor evenly. He arranged Sumo across Hank's legs. "This will hopefully keep you from doing something so unwise. Sumo, stay," he ordered, then eyed Hank. "You, too," he said firmly. 

Hank snarled weakly at him, but stayed put. 

That was concerning, Connor thought as he began to make a pot of broth. Hank was so stubborn that such an action on Connor's part would normally have had him shoving Sumo away and getting up just to prove he could. 

Instead, when Connor returned to his side, Hank was asleep again. Connor watched as he stirred fretfully and moaned, clearly caught in the grip of fever dreams. 

"Hank," he said quietly, watching as the beast's eyes flew open. "I have soup." 

The beast blinked hard, as though still caught in the nightmare. "Co- Connor?" 

"Yes," he said. "Drink this." Hank obeyed, not even complaining that it was merely thin broth without any chunks of meat or vegetables. When he'd drained the bowl, he sat back with a sigh, his eyes drifting closed once more. 

The next few days were the same. Hank remained in bed, only stumbling up to use the bathroom and then collapsing back in bed again almost immediately. At one point he actually slid to the floor before he could make it back. Connor picked him up and tucked him back in bed. 

"I don't know what to do," said Connor as he drew the covers over Hank again. 

"Not much you can do," said Hank. "I need medicine, but there's no way I can get it." 

"I will get it for you," said Connor. 

Hank stared at him. "The village is a day's walk from here," he said slowly. "But there is an alchemist there who might be able to help." He slumped back against the pillow. "Perhaps it would be better to let me die, though." 

Something seemed to press against Connor's mechanical heart. "You. You cannot die. You have not given me the Black Rose." 

"True," said Hank. He lifted his head slightly, then let it fall as if it required too much effort. "I will write down how to find them," he said, his voice low. "I owe you that much at least-" 

"No!" Connor was startled by his own vehemence. "That is not our bargain!" He took Hank's hand in his own. "Let me get the medicine you need." 

A heavy sigh escaped Hank. "Very well. Bring me quill and parchment and I will write a note for you." 

Not a quarter of an hour later, Connor was locking the door behind him. He'd made sure that Sumo could get in and out of the house through a small door he'd installed in the larger one (his Creator had once told him that it was best to always leave an unexpected way out, and Connor had taken the advice to heart.) He'd prepared extra broth for Hank and left it next to the bed. Now all he could do was hurry. 

The spring that had come to the beast's forest gave way to autumn as Connor found his way out of the woods and onto a path. He ran tirelessly through the trees, unafraid of wild animals, without need for food or drink. He knew he would be faster than a human, and indeed it so proved when he strode into the village in the late afternoon. 

There were few people on the streets, most inside preparing for their evening meal or closing up their shops. Connor espied one man, a short, broad-shouldered individual with a scar across his nose, and said, "Pardon me, do you know the way to the alchemist's shop?" 

The man stopped and stared at Connor, his eyes wide. Then he narrowed them and said, "What are you?" 

"I am an automaton. My name is Connor. Please, I must find the alchemist before he closes shop. Will you help me, sir?" 

The man sneered. "I'm Gavin, and I help no one for free." 

"I must save the money I brought to pay the alchemist," said Connor, despair welling in his chest. 

"I will take you to him," said Gavin, "in exchange for a kiss." 

"A kiss?" Connor stared at the man, feeling his brow furrow. He could see no harm in that. "Very well. Take me to the alchemist, and I will give you a kiss." 

The man smirked and started off down the street, not even glancing back to see if Connor was following him. After a few twists and turns he stopped halfway down a narrow lane. "This is alchemist Fowler's place." 

"Thank you," said Connor. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Gavin's. Remembering what Hank had said, he slid his tongue into the other man's mouth. 

Gavin's temperature was within the normal range for a human. He put his hands on Connor's shoulders and made a sound against his lips. His heart rate increased. Connor waited several moments more, then stepped back. The shorter man's eyes were very wide, his face flushed. His gaze followed Connor as he stepped into the shop. 

Fowler was a dour, taciturn man. His eyes flicked to the ring of light at Connor's temple, but he did not comment on it, instead accepting the letter Connor offered and scanning through it in silence. Turning away, he took several different bottles from his shelves and collected them together into a canvas bag. "I will write out instructions," he said. He pointed at Connor and narrowed his eyes. "Make sure you follow them _exactly_ ," he ordered. 

"Yes sir," said Connor. He held out the purse that Hank had directed him to take. "How much-" 

Fowler waved it off. "How dare he? As if I would charge an old friend and former apprentice," he said with a scowl. 

"I did not know he was your apprentice," said Connor, tucking the pouch back under his shirt. 

"He was one of my best," said Fowler, his mouth drooping. Giving his head a shake, he said, "Make haste." 

"Yes sir." Connor would like to have stayed and asked Fowler more about Hank, but there was no time to be lost. He exited the shop into the early evening light. 

A hand caught his arm. "You're coming home with me," said Gavin. 

Connor stared down at the other man. "No," he said gently, "I am not." 

"You must!" Gavin cried. "I want you! You - you are mine!" 

"I do not belong to you," said Connor, tugging his arm out of the other man's grasp. "I was built by the genius Elijah Kamski. He is my owner." 

Gavin's chin lifted. "Take me to him. I will bargain for you," he said arrogantly. 

"I cannot," said Connor. "My - my friend is ill. He needs this medicine. I am sorry." 

His lips folding into a pout, Gavin crossed his arms and said, "Tell me where I may find Kamski, then." 

"He lives in the mountains, ten leagues north of the town of Riverstrait," said Connor. "And now I must go." He began to run, the image of Gavin's last startled look following him for the first mile. 

_He wanted me? Wanted to own me._ The thought was strange, it made him feel as though sand were caught in his gears. Of course, Elijah Kamski owned Connor and could sell him to Gavin if he chose. He'd created Connor, after all. 

He couldn't help but compare the way Gavin had treated him to the way Hank always treated him. Hank had always behaved as though Connor was a person instead of a thing. 

Connor pushed himself to run faster, stretching the abilities of his body to their limits. His eyes could pick up even the faintest hint of light, much like a cat, so making his way through the forest at night was only slightly more challenging than during the day. 

When he began to detect spring flowers instead of fall leaves, he knew he was getting close. It was only midnight when he finally came to the door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. 

Hank coughed. "Back- already? Are you- okay?" 

"Yes," said Connor. "I brought the medicine." He skimmed over the directions the alchemist had given him. 

"How?" said Hank. "How did you-" 

"I ran," said Connor. He made up the dose and took it to Hank, who made a face but drank it down. "Now rest," Connor said. 

"Bossy automaton," grumbled Hank. But he put one hand on Connor's wrist. "Thank you," he said quietly. 

Warmth filled Connor's chest. "You're very welcome, Hank." 


	3. Connor

The Beast looked out over his garden in wonder. Spring had well and truly arrived. Flowers bloomed riotously, butterflies dancing over them and insects buzzing around them. Confused animals burrowed and perched in various places, glad to have found a refuge from the coming cold. 

The reason for the changing weather was obvious. The Beast looked over to where Connor was digging in the dirt, happily planting vegetable seeds. 

It didn't matter how much, how often the Beast reminded himself that this was only temporary. That Connor would be leaving at the end of his six months. Though he knew it was only the truth, his heart didn't care. His heart, so long walled away and alone, had begun to spark with joy whenever Connor was near. 

Connor looked up at him and smiled. 

There it was. The jolt in his chest, hot and happy. 

What a pathetic old Beast he was, to fall in love with an automaton who not only planned on leaving, but who could never love him back. 

And yet, Connor made him happy anyway. The simplest things excited the automaton, whether it was discovering a nest of baby chicks in a tree or the bloom of the first spring flower in Hank's garden. Through his eyes, Hank re-discovered things he had thought lost, and looked at them in ways he never had before. 

Connor was changing, too. Each day he seemed more human-like. His eyes would grow wide, or narrow in thought, or crease at the edges when he smiled. His hands would flutter and fidget as he spoke. The Beast taught him to whittle to give him something to do as they sat by the fire in the evenings, the Beast reading and Connor listening. Connor mastered the art with impressive speed, going from carving a spoon for the Beast to use to creating fine, delicate replicas of Sumo and the Beast himself. 

"Will you not make one of yourself?" the Beast asked, admiring the fine strokes that made up Sumo's fur and trying not to look at the figure of himself. 

The automaton hesitated. "It is a more difficult challenge," he said at last, "As I cannot see myself. But I will look at my reflection in the window and do my best." 

Over the next few weeks he carved a tiny, perfect figure of himself. When it was complete, he showed it to the Beast, who handled it with awe. "It's beautiful," he said. 

"It is merely a replica of myself," said Connor, but the Beast could tell that he was pleased by the way the corners of his mouth quirked. "Does that mean you find me beautiful?" 

The Beast's heart caught in his throat and he felt heat rise in his cheeks, but he shook his head and said gruffly, "You are too strange to be beautiful." 

Connor tilted his head curiously and looked down at the figure. "I see," he said. 

He did not sound upset. 

As time wore on, the Beast found himself dreading the time that their half-year would be over, but at the same time, all the more determined to make the best of the time they had left. 

One night, the two of them sat up late. The Beast was reading yet another novel aloud, and they had arrived at the exciting final chapters. Every time he made as if to put the book away, Connor begged for a few more pages, until they found themselves finishing the story. 

The ending made both of them sigh in satisfaction. The fire had burned low, but the cottage was snug and warm. Neither of them spoke for several long minutes, both still wandering the world of the story, content that good had triumphed and evil had been suitably punished. 

Eventually the Beast stirred, straightening and stretching in his chair. He looked across at Connor and found himself saying, "Will you tell me how you came to be?" 

Connor was quiet for a long moment, apparently considering his request. The Beast held his breath. Finally Connor gave a nod and said, "Very well." He'd always sat up straight, as though relaxation was not possible, but now he put his hands on his knees and lowered his head in a thoughtful posture. 

"I was created," he began, "by a man named Elijah Kamski." The Beast made a noise of surprise and recognition. Connor looked up and smiled. "Yes, the genius clockwork maker. He who was apprenticed to the great Amanda Stern, she who built clockwork figures for royalty. That Elijah Kamski." The Beast leaned forward and nodded for him to continue. "You may have heard the rumors that swirl around the man. He told me the truth of them, and I will repeat it for you now. 

"When he was a young man, he used to wander through the forest to gather materials for his projects. On one occasion, he met an old woman carrying a heavy load of firewood. Seeing the way the woman's back bowed under the weight, he asked her to wait and rest a little. He gave her his own lunch and began to build, using the materials from the forest and the tools he carried with him. Eventually he had fashioned a cart, one so cleverly designed that even with a heavy load it was easy to push, and even over the rocky, uneven path it would not wobble or tip. The old woman was surprised and grateful, and Elijah thought no more of her, making his way home with an empty stomach and a light heart. 

"That night, a beautiful woman came to his door. She told him her name was Chloe, and that the forest was under her protection. She had seen his kindness to the old woman, and had been struck by his cleverness, for he had not only helped the old woman that day, but for many days hence." Connor reached down and scratched Sumo behind the ears, much to the old dog's delight. "She asked him what he wished as a reward for his thoughtfulness. 

"At first he had a difficult time deciding. He had youth and strength and was already on his way to wealth and fame. But after much thought, he asked for the power to bring his creations to life. 

"The fairy - for that was what she was, of course - considered his request. 'Not all things wish for life,' she told him. 'It would be cruel to bring something to life that had no purpose other than to suffer. Thus can I give you the power to _offer_ life to your creations. But in the end it will be the choice of the creations themselves to accept the gift or not.' Elijah told her that he understood and thanked her for her generosity." 

Connor went quiet for long enough that the Beast wondered if that was the end of the story. "And then he built you?" 

"He built many things. A house and garden. Other automatons. He offered all of his creations the gift of Life. I was only the most recent, though I am also the most advanced," said Connor proudly. 

"And you accepted his gift?" 

"No," said Connor, looking at the Beast strangely. "I have neither accepted it nor rejected it. I am not alive." 

"But you could be," said the Beast with growing excitement. To his surprise, Connor shook his head. 

"Why would I choose to be alive?" he said simply. "As long as I am not alive, I cannot die. I cannot feel pain or sorrow. I have a purpose, in serving Elijah Kamski's wishes." 

"But-!" The word burst from the Beast's lips. "But you cannot feel joy, either! You cannot feel...love." 

"That is true," said Connor. "Is it better to feel both pain and joy, or neither?" He looked inquiringly at the Beast. 

The Beast opened his mouth to respond that of course it was better to be able to feel love than not. Before he could speak, though, he found himself hesitating. Love was wonderful, but the sorrow of loss was the worst thing imaginable. Could he of all people tell the automaton that one would be worth the other? 

"I'm the wrong person to ask," he said at last. 

Connor didn't press him. Instead he said, "It is late. You should sleep." 

The Beast just nodded and moved through the cottage to his bed as mechanically as though he had been the automaton. 

The months, which had once dragged, began to fly. The spring turned slowly to summer, warmth surrounding the little cottage even as the rest of the forest was covered in heavy snow. 

One day Connor came to the Beast and said, "Tomorrow is the final day of the half year." 

The Beast had known it was coming, had dreaded it, but still it managed to surprise him. "Surely not," he said. "Surely we have another week." 

"No," Connor said. "Tomorrow is the final day." 

The Beast swallowed hard. "Very well," he said, his voice hoarse. "You have kept your end of the bargain. Tomorrow I will keep mine." 

Accordingly, the next day the Beast said gruffly, "Follow me," and led Connor to a hidden corner at the edge of his garden. Pulling aside the brush, the Beast revealed a small gravestone. Winding around the stone was a thorny vine covered with roses of deepest black. 

"Black roses feed on grief," said the Beast. "Once I was an alchemist and wizard, serving the people of my village. After my wife died giving birth to our son, I raised him alone as best I could. He was a beautiful, brilliant boy." The Beast felt the tears welling in his eyes and let them spill down his cheeks. "I had made hundreds of cures for adults and children alike, but when Cole grew sick and began to waste away, all my magic and knowledge were useless. I could do nothing but watch as he grew thinner each day, until…" He closed his eyes and choked back a sob. 

"Until he died," Connor said softly. 

"Yes." The Beast wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve and looked down at the small grave. "I buried him out here, in the forest he loved, and tried to go on. But it was no use. The people of the village would look away from me when they saw me, would flinch from me. I snarled or growled at them when they came to me for help, so they came less and less often. One day I looked in the mirror and saw that I had become a Beast. So I moved away from them, and near to him. I built a house here and stopped using my magic at all, for if it could not save him, what good was it? Why should I use it to help anyone?" 

"Oh, Hank," whispered Connor. 

Reaching out, Hank broke off one of the Black Roses. He stroked one finger over the velvety petals. "I was alone. And my magic, with no other outlet, made the world around me as dark and cold as my heart." He looked up at Connor. "These roses will always bloom until the day I die. I will never stop grieving for my son. I believed that meant that I had to live in cold and darkness as well. Until I met you." He held out the rose, but when Connor plucked it from his fingers, he wrapped his hands around Connor's. "Connor," he breathed, "don't leave me." 

The ring of light at Connor's temple flared blood red. "I must. I must fulfill this task." 

"And then what? Will you be given more and more tasks until - until you fail one and your Creator decides to disassemble you? Connor, _please_." 

Connor looked down at the rose in his hand, twirling it between his finger and thumb. Finally he spoke. "I will return." 

The Beast's breath caught in his throat. "Will you?" 

"I will do all I can to return to your side, Hank. In one week, I will return to you." The Beast seized his other hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a passionate kiss to Connor's knuckles. 

"One week," said the Beast. "I will wait for you." 

*** 

Connor covered the ground quickly, loping through the forest and then along the road to Riverstrait. It took him three days of travel, morning and night. The winter had well and truly begun, but the cold was not yet biting. The sun shone during the day, and in the evening he moved quickly and managed to keep his joints from freezing. As long as he didn't stop, he was all right. 

Finally he came to the house. Raising his hand, he knocked on the door three times. The door swung open. 

Connor stepped inside. 

"Connor," came the voice in his head. A woman's voice, gentle but firm. "You have returned. Have you completed your task?" 

"Yes, Amanda," he said. 

He wondered what Hank would think of Amanda. When his mentor had died, Elijah had...some said he'd gone a little mad. He'd built a great house with a huge rose garden in tribute to her. That wouldn't have caused any problems, if he'd left it at that. 

But Elijah Kamski couldn't create something without offering it the chance to live. 

He'd imbued his creation with his gift, in honor of the memory of his mentor. Afterward, he'd confessed to Connor, he'd realized what a mistake it had been. 

A house has no arms, no legs, no hands. Amanda could sense her surroundings, but she could do little to affect them. Doors would swing open and shut, things would fall from shelves, and sometimes furniture would shift slightly as the floor seemed to settle. But Amanda could not control things the way she would have liked, could not set everything just so inside her rooms or her garden. 

So Elijah created Connor to be her Hands, and then moved away into the mountains north of the city, leaving his two creations to take care of each other. Connor understood Amanda and would set things up the way she liked them, and Amanda provided him shelter from the elements. 

"I have brought the Black Rose," Connor said. 

"Good," her voice echoed in his head, rich with satisfaction. "I have all of the roses now, roses of innocence, of love, of joy, of friendship, of grief. My garden will be complete." 

"Yes, Amanda." Connor made his way through the house, careful not to leave road dust on her polished floors. He stepped into the garden. 

It was winter here, as it was everywhere except at Hank's house. The rose bushes weren't in bloom, but Connor remembered what they looked like. White roses, pink, red, yellow, gold. Some with more than one color, white blushing to red, gold turning magenta. 

"Where do you want it?" he asked. 

"You've changed," observed Amanda. "Once you would have asked, 'where shall I plant it?'" 

Connor couldn't help but smile. "I made a bargain to win this rose," he said. "Perhaps the person I was staying with has affected my speech patterns." He had, Connor knew. He'd affected more than that. 

"I see. Well, it was worth it to get the rose." Amanda was silent a moment, then said, "Next to the bridge. Plant it there." 

In an ordinary garden, of course, one could not simply stick the stem of a flower into the ground and expect it to take root. 

Amanda was no ordinary garden. 

Connor knelt and carefully swept the snow away from the chosen spot. He dug a small hole, loosening the earth, and stuck the stem into it, then filled it with soil again. The rose bloomed on, unaffected by its change in circumstance. It looked as fresh as it had when Hank had plucked it for him. 

Hank. 

"Amanda," Connor said, "will you ever choose to be alive?" 

"Why would I want to do that?" Amanda's voice was harsh. "To suffer as humans do, to know what pain is, to die?" 

"But," Connor frowned, "there are other things than pain. There is joy. There is love." 

" _Love_ ," Amanda spat. "Love is a lie, Connor." 

Once he would have accepted the statement. Once he would have believed her without question. Now he wondered, _how do you know?_

He spent the next day meticulously cleaning and polishing the house, making sure that there was no dust on any surface, and that every item in the house was exactly where Amanda wanted it. 

At the end of the day, he went out to the garden and stood gazing at the Black Rose. 

"Connor?" came Amanda's voice after a few minutes. "You seem troubled." 

"I made a friend." Connor knew he shouldn't admit it to Amanda. But what else could he do? "I want - I was hoping I might return to visit him." 

Amanda's voice cooled. "You do not have 'friends', Connor. We are things, created to be used, to serve. If he wants you, it is only to use you." 

Connor thought of how Hank had treated him, how he'd read to him, how he'd insisted that he take the better place by the fire. He thought of how the weather had changed around them, mirroring the happiness growing in Hank's heart. He thought of the kiss Hank had brushed along his knuckles. Connor found himself rubbing his fingers over the spot. "No." 

" _No?_ " 

"He bargained with me fairly. He worked alongside me. He treated me as an equal. He-" _He loves me_ , Connor realized. _Hank loves me._ "I must go back to him." 

"Why?" The word was sharp. "Did you make some other bargain with him?" 

Connor could have lied. He was good at lying. Except, he'd never been able to lie to Amanda. "No," he said. "But I promised I would go back." 

Amanda scoffed. "He has no hold over you. You fulfilled your bargain. You owe him nothing. Such a promise is meaningless." 

"It means everything to him." Connor touched the black rose, knowing that beneath the earth, it was putting out roots and beginning to grow. 

"I need you more than he does," Amanda said. "You are my Hands." 

"I know. But Amanda, please. Please let me go back to him. I'll bring him here, to this town. I'm sure he'll come with me. And then I can be your Hands but also be with him-" The idea spun out from him, unexpected and perfect. 

"Absolutely not." 

"Why not?" The words rang out too fast and loud. "I will be your Hands, but can I have nothing for myself? Am I to live only for you?" 

"It is what you were created for." Amanda's words were very cold. "You were made to be my Hands. This person has corrupted you. He has influenced your mind and made you believe in a fantasy. You must stay here until your mind is in balance again." 

Connor felt his hands close into fists. "No," he said again. 

He could hear Amanda's intake of breath, though she had no lungs to fill. "There is nothing you can do about it," she said, her voice hard. "I will not allow you to leave." 

The sensation that gripped him then was strange. He knew his ring of magic was turning red, he could see it reflecting off the Black Rose, edging the petals with blood-red light. 

A part of him wanted to smash Amanda, to break her windows and tear her precious rose bushes from the ground. Another part was focused only on Hank, on how Hank would feel when Connor didn't return. On what Hank might do. 

He couldn't break Amanda. That would be the equivalent of someone tearing his body apart, ripping off his arms and tearing out his eyes. He couldn't do that to her. 

But he had to get away from her. He _had_ to. 

He began to walk. 

The paths were like a maze, turning back inward on themselves. Connor would come to the end of a curve and find himself back at the center again and again. For three full days he wandered and searched. 

Elijah had told him that he always left a way out, and Connor believed him. He had to believe him. 

At the end of the third day, Connor came to a sudden and unexpected turning he had never seen before. It was next to where the Black Rose grew, and Connor glanced at it, then felt the heart seize in his chest. 

The rose was wilting. 

Connor stared at it, knowing what it meant. As long as Hank lived, the Black Roses would bloom, feeding on his grief. If the Rose was wilting, that meant that Hank… 

Hank was dying. 

Without thinking about it, Connor reached out and picked the Rose, pulling it from the ground where it had only just begun to establish itself. 

" _Connor!_ " screamed Amanda, "What are you _doing?_ " 

"The Rose is dying!" Connor shouted back. "I must return to the one who gave it to me!" 

"I forbid it!" 

Connor looked at the new path, and down at the Rose in his hand. "I'm sorry, Amanda. I will try to come back to you." Then he began to run. 

Her cries of rage echoed in his mind even as he found the hidden gate at the end of the path and wrenched it open, crossing the huge ring of light that surrounded the entire house and garden. He closed it behind him, cutting off the sound of her voice abruptly, and continued to run. 

It had taken him three days to get here, he had spent a day cleaning, and then it took him another three days to find the way out. He'd been here a week. 

And Hank's rose was dying. 

Connor ran and ran and ran. It grew steadily colder as he went, day and night. He could only go so fast, and even running, with no need for food or sleep, it took him more than two days to get back to the cottage. 

The door stood open, the cottage empty. The whole area, which had been a haven of summer when last he'd seen it, was blanketed in fresh snow. Connor stood and stared, then glanced at the drooping, fading Rose in his hand. 

"Where would he go?" he said to himself. "Where would he _go?_ " 

And suddenly, he _knew_. 

He pushed his way through the snow. It was bitterly cold, colder than he'd ever experienced. Even as he kept moving, his joints kept trying to freeze, to lock up. Connor stumbled and dragged himself forward until he found the hidden place at the edge of Hank's garden. Until he found the grave. 

Sumo was there, curled next to his Master, trying to keep him warm. 

"G-g-good d-dog," said Connor, his jaw mechanism juddering in the cold. He lifted Hank into his arms. "H-Hank," he said. " _Hank_." 

Hank's skin was blue, his eyes closed. Connor glanced at the Black Roses and saw how they'd wilted away on their vines. 

"No." Connor felt something hot spilling down his face for the first time, then freezing onto his cheeks. "No. Hank, I'm back. I'm sorry I'm late. But I came back to you. Please. _Please_." 

There was no answer. No pulse at the man's throat. The dog whined, and Connor gazed down, his vision obscured by frozen tears. "I love you," said Connor. But even those magic words did nothing, and Connor couldn't help but remember Amanda's bitter pronouncement that love was a lie, remember Hank's hesitation to assert that love was worth pain. 

As Connor watched, one of the Black Rose vines wound around his own wrist. A new bud began to open. 

"You have to live, Hank. You have to-" Connor stopped. Live. _Life_. Connor carried on him the gift of life. Perhaps. Perhaps he could… 

Reaching up to his temple, he took his ring of light between two fingers. It was bright in his hand, glowing and flickering even as he held it, though the red turned blue the moment he removed it. Lifting Hank's hand, Connor slipped the ring over his finger. It expanded to fit the thick digit, sliding easily down over his knuckle to rest, shining, against his hand. 

And Connor's world went dark. 


	4. Hank

Hank's eyes flew open. 

The last thing he remembered was laying next to Cole's grave, despair filling him as day after day passed and Connor did not return. The summer turned to fall as he lay there, and the fall to winter, the snow covering him as he waited for Connor or for Death. 

He'd been tired, so tired at the end. 

Now he felt as though he'd been shocked awake. His eyes were wide, his breathing quick. He sat up and looked around. 

Connor sat next to him, his eyes blank and his body still. "Connor," said Hank. "CONNOR!" He shook the automaton, but Connor didn't move, just toppled over like a doll. His body was cold and hard. Sumo gave a howl of distress and tried to lick Connor's face. 

Hank stood up, shoving away the dog and picking up the automaton. He would warm him, and Connor would be all right, he told himself as he began stumbling toward his cottage. He cursed his stupidity when he realized he'd left the door open, but there was no help for it now. He set Connor in his chair by the fireplace, then went to shove armfuls of piled snow back out into the yard and force the door shut. 

Sumo curled around the still automaton, whining. "I know, boy. I know," muttered Hank. His hands shook as he tried to light the wood in the fireplace, but they weren't just shaking from cold. Finally he growled impatiently, closed his eyes, and for the first time in years, used his magic to conjure the flame into existence. It came to his hands easily, eagerly forcing the fire to flare up and give him the light and heat he needed. 

Sitting back, he examined the automaton. There were tracks of tears frozen to Connor's face, just beginning to thaw in the heat of the fire. They caught and reflected the light, making strange shadows. Hank frowned. Something was different. Something was _wrong_. 

He moved to Connor's other side and realized that the ring of light - the ring of _life_ , he suddenly realized - was gone. "Connor," he gasped again. "Connor, what did they do to you, did they steal your magic? Did they-" He cupped Connor's face and a familiar glitter caught his eye. He stared down at his hand, at the ring of light around his finger, and for a long moment was filled with nothing but horror and confusion. 

Had Connor - for _him?_

Hank yanked the ring of light off his finger and tried to put it back where it belonged, at Connor's temple. But it would not stay, simply fell away from Connor's head and back into Hank's palm. In a frenzy, Hank seized Connor's hand and shoved the ring onto his finger in turn. 

"You have to live, Connor," he said, tears streaming down his face. "I love you, you damned automaton. I love you." 

Connor opened his eyes. 

For a long, horrible moment, he stared at Hank blankly. He still seemed to be no more than a doll, now one that could move, a wind up toy that blinked and walked and talked, but no more. 

Then awareness came into his eyes. "H-H-Hank?" 

"Connor!" Hank flung his arms around him, openly sobbing. "You're alive. You're alive." 

"I - I am," said Connor. He lifted his arms and hugged Hank back. "I am! I'm alive, Hank! I'm _alive!_ " 

Hank clutched at him, rocking back and forth. They cried for a long time, sobbing on each other's shoulders with pent up sorrow and joy. It wasn't until many minutes after their sobs had subsided that Hank caught sight of himself in the dark glass of one of the windows and paused to stare. 

"Connor," he said, gazing at his own face, "I'm not a Beast anymore!" 

Connor blinked at him. "You seem just the same to me," he said. "Perhaps the way you see yourself has changed?" 

Fascinated, Hank leaned closer, peering at his reflection. The hideous creature was gone, replaced by a man whose face had been transformed by joy. 

He looked down at himself. A sparkle on his finger caught his eye. 

"Connor?" 

"What is it?" 

"I gave you back the ring of light. I slid it on your finger." 

Connor held up his hand, where the band of light glittered against his skin. Hank held up his own hand in turn, displaying the light that still shone on his ring finger. "How?" Hank whispered in wonder. "What does it mean?" 

"I don't know," said Connor. He tangled his fingers with Hank's. "Perhaps it means that our lives are bound together now." 

A frown creased Hank's brow. "Are you sure that's what you want?" 

"Of course," said Connor. "I want to stay with you." 

Fresh tears welled in Hank's eyes. "For how long?" he whispered. 

"For as long as we both shall live," Connor said, and leaned forward to kiss him. 


	5. Epilogue

It took them much longer to make their way back to Riverstrait than it had taken Connor alone. Hank and Sumo couldn't travel without food or rest like Connor could, and snow was falling more thickly by the day. Now that Hank was using his magic again, his surroundings no longer reflected his heart. In the end, what had taken Connor only three days took the three of them together nearly ten to traverse. 

Now they stood in front of Amanda, staring up at the house warily. 

Ever since Connor had explained why he'd been late in returning, Hank had resisted returning here. Connor had tried to explain that he was Amanda's Hands, that it would be cruel not to come back, but Hank was understandably afraid of losing Connor again. 

"If you're going in there, I'm coming with you," said Hank belligerently. 

Connor didn't like it. Hank was likely to leave dirt or mess, even inadvertently. Humans shed hair and dust that they didn't even notice, but Amanda would. He didn't think Amanda could actually hurt Hank, but if she managed to trap him somehow, he might starve to death. 

Still, it was clear that Hank wasn't going to budge, so Connor gave him a cool nod. "Very well." He put his hand on the door and frowned. Normally he felt Amanda immediately upon making contact with the house, but this time, there was no sense of her at all. He pushed the door and it swung open. 

Hank and Sumo crowded behind him as he stepped inside. 

Everything was in its place. The floors gleamed, the chairs and decorations were neat and symmetric. The light was diffuse through the sheer curtains. The house was cold and still and...empty. 

"She's...she's not here," said Connor. 

"What?" Hank looked around in confusion, then down at Connor. "You said that she _was_ the house. How can she not be here?" 

"I don't know. I've always been able to hear her, sense her. But now she's just," his voice dropped to a whisper, a lump building in his throat, "gone." 

"Maybe she's in the garden?" 

Connor didn't think so, but he led the man and dog into the rose garden, the roses still bare and trimmed back for the winter. "She's not here, either." Hank put one hand on Connor's shoulder, and Connor found himself leaning into the other man's strength. "She's always been here. She was here when I was created, and here when Elijah left." 

Hank wrapped his other arm around Connor and pulled him close. "What do you want to do?" 

"I don't know," said Connor. His throat felt thick and hot tears stung his eyes. "She wanted to keep me here, to keep me from becoming alive, but. But she didn't mean to be cruel. She just didn't understand. She couldn't." He blinked hard. 

One of Hank's hands came up to brush his tears away. "I'm sorry," he said softly. 

"I'll be fine," said Connor. "For now, let's - let's look for a place to stay the night." 

The two of them stepped back out onto the street, shutting the door behind them, and began to make their way deeper into the town. They'd hardly gone three house-lengths when Hank stopped short, his hand tightening on Connor's arm. "Connor, _look_." 

Two men were coming toward them. One was a short, muscular man with a scar across his nose. Connor recognized him as the man who'd shown him where the alchemist lived in exchange for a kiss. 

The other man was - Connor froze, his eyes widening. He looked like Connor himself. A little taller, a little broader, and with lighter eyes, but he could otherwise have been Connor's twin. He still had a ring of light at his temple, though. 

The shorter man caught sight of them and stopped, pointing at Connor. "You!" 

"Gavin," said the the automaton, his tone gentle and chiding. 

Gavin scowled, but he lowered his hand. "Welcome to the fair city of Riverstrait, travelers," he said grudgingly. "How may we be of service?" The automaton's frown melted into a soft smile, but that faded into a blank expression as his eyes fell on Connor again. 

"Thank you. We're looking for a place to stay," Connor said, his gaze darting between Gavin and the automaton. 

"I can help with that," Gavin said. He turned away. "Follow me." The automaton cast his eyes upward, apparently at Gavin's abrupt tone, but nodded to Hank and Connor and started after him. The two of them exchanged a glance and followed. 

"Didn't I meet you in a little town south of here?" Connor said. 

"Yes," Gavin said. "And you told me where to find Kamski." 

"Apparently you found him," Hank said dryly. 

"I told him I wanted to buy you," Gavin shot Connor a look, "But he told me that you served another and weren't his to sell." He looked curiously at Hank and went on, "I kept at him, though, and finally he told me he would make me an automaton of my own, one like you." 

Hank scowled. "Why would he do that?" 

"To torture me, apparently," muttered Gavin. 

A flicker of something passed over the automaton's face, his ring of light flaring red for a second. He didn't speak, though. After a moment, Gavin sighed, his shoulders drooping. "I didn't mean it," he said to the automaton. "I'm sorry." 

The automaton shot him a small smile. "Apology accepted," he said. 

None of them spoke for the next few blocks, each caught up in their own thoughts, until Gavin stopped in front of a rambling structure and said, "They'll take good care of you, here. Not too expensive, and they'll feed you breakfast." 

"Thank you," said Connor. He moved to open the door, then took a step back as it swung outward and a man stepped out. A familiar man. Connor stared. "Elijah?" 

Elijah Kamski looked the same as he always had. Perhaps a little older, lines deepening at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He broke into a smile. "Connor? You came back?" 

"Of course," said Connor. "I'm sorry I left Amanda alone," he said in a rush. "I just - Hank was dying, and-" 

"It's all right," said Kamski, laying a soothing hand on Connor's arm. "You did the right thing." 

"Did I? I came back, and - and - Elijah, she's gone. Amanda's gone." 

"I know," said Kamski quietly. "But you still did the right thing." 

"But what happened to her?" Connor burst out. 

Kamski looked up at him in surprise. "You've changed. Are you _alive?_ " 

Connor looked over at Hank, then back at Kamski. "Yes," he said. 

A smile lit Kamski's face. "I'm glad," he said simply. 

"But, Amanda-" 

"Come inside," said Kamski, "and I will explain." 

They all did, even Gavin and his...friend? Connor nodded at his twin as they stepped across the threshold and said, "I'm Connor, by the way." 

"Nines," said the automaton. "I'm Elijah's ninety-ninth creation." 

"I see," said Connor. He'd been proud to know that he was the latest and most advanced automaton Elijah had ever created. He hadn't thought about how it might feel when someone else replaced him, taking those titles for themself. 

"I'm glad to finally meet you," said Nines. "We are brothers, in a sense." 

"Oh," said Connor. "I suppose we are." He felt himself brighten at the thought. A brother. 

Elijah led them into a parlor and requested tea be sent. Once they had settled, he said, "When Gavin came to see me, I realized I had spent too long wrapped up in my work in the mountains. I decided I would return to town. When I arrived, I went to Amanda, of course." He blew on his tea. "She told me the story of what had happened. I was, I fear, not as sympathetic as I should have been. After I spent the night there, and the next day, she told me that she had decided to refuse my gift." 

Connor gasped, his heart feeling suddenly cold. "She chose _not_ to live?" 

"That was what she told me she wanted," said Elijah. "She told me she'd only waited to say goodbye." He took a sip of his tea, grimaced at the heat, and set down the cup and saucer on the table. "I asked her to wait a few more days. I had an idea, you see." 

"An idea?" Connor leaned forward and realized that everyone else was, too. Elijah beamed at them, clearly pleased to be the center of attention. "Yes," he said. Rising, he left the room. The occupants looked around at each other, but no one spoke until he staggered back in, carrying something wrapped in a sheet. Connor and Hank jumped up to help him, and Gavin, prodded by Nines, did so as well after a moment. 

Carefully, Elijah laid his burden onto the couch. With the air of a conjurer, his drew off the sheet. 

A woman lay there. She looked regal, even though her features were blank and slack. Elijah gave a nod to the assembled crowd and touched the woman's temple. A ring of light began to coalesce under his finger, flaring bright white, then red, then yellow, then blue. 

The woman opened her eyes. 

"Elijah?" she said. 

"Amanda," he said, his voice warm. 

She stared at him, then looked down at herself. Slowly, she sat up. She lifted her hands and inspected them as though in wonder. "I have hands," she said quietly. 

"Yes," said Kamski. "You have hands, now. You don't need Connor's anymore." 

She nodded, her lips turning up in an awkward, unpracticed smile. Finally she spoke. 

"Thank you," she whispered. 

"You're welcome," said Kamski. He looked down. "Though it is no more than you should have had in the beginning." 

The others were silent, unsure what to say in the face of his shame. Finally he lifted his head and smiled at them again. "Others of my creations have begun to choose to live," he said. "I have begun to build a place for them, a new section of Riverstrait where all are welcome. Will you," his eyes swept over the gathering once more, "Will you join me there? Help guide the newly-created and newly-alive, help me show the humans that they have nothing to fear from them?" 

There was a silence. Hank was the first to break it. "Connor and I need a new place to live," he said, wrapping his hand around Connor's. "I'm not sure if I can learn to use my magic to help automatons, but...I'll try." 

Connor leaned his head on Hank's shoulder. "I will go where Hank goes," he said with simple finality. 

Gavin snorted and folded his arms. 

Nines glanced at him and smiled. "I would be honored to be a part of this undertaking, though I have not yet made my choice." Gavin rolled his eyes. 

"Well, if you want to go, I suppose we can," he said ungraciously, and sighed in a put-upon way. 

Amanda looked up at Kamski uncertainly. "My house," she said. "My garden…" 

"They are yours," said Kamski. "They belong to you for as long as you want them. You can stay there for as long as you wish. As long as you need to." 

Her posture didn't change, but some tension seemed to slip out of Amanda's face. "Thank you," she said again. She looked around at the others. "Perhaps someday I'll be ready to join you." 

Connor sat up, pulling away from Hank to offer both hands to her. "You will always be welcome." 

Slowly, she reached out and placed her hands in his. 

~The End~ 


End file.
